Us Two, The Two of Them, and Notebook
by Manizu
Summary: "Watch her for a while, and take her soul when the time is right." Upon receiving this mysterious command, Sans sets off to watch over a young girl in the human world. Based loosely off of Renrink's Reapertale AU. Art credit to KlaraGibson of Deviant Art; used with permission. (SLOW UPDATES)
1. The Man Who Speaks in Hands

**Preliminary Note: Chapters for literally everything else are coming, along with the conclusion of A Value Between 0 and 2. I've been tired lately, so I took a break for most of this week. Then this idea popped in my head, and…**

 **Spoilery content warnings: attempted suicide.**

 **Contains OCs (just human characters) and essentially platonic Soriel.**

* * *

He always folded his hands on the desk when he talked. Yeah, I know that seems like a weird thing to think about, but I never really saw much of him—both literally and figuratively. His office was dark like the rest of this place; his hands were the only parts of him I could ever see. Like most of us, he probably dressed in all black. But even then, I should be able to see some other part of him, right? A fold of cloth here, or even a bit of his face?  
No. To me, all he was was represented in his hands.

The day he called me in was like any other day. I use your terms; we don't have days here. Time is only significant to a human observer. Time plays no role here. I digress; there was nothing terribly out of the ordinary. I briefly wondered if I had been caught (I'll get to that later), but dismissed the thought. He couldn't know; we had been very careful.

I sat down across from him, making sure to sit upright and straighten my back.

"Sans. I have a job for you. Another human."

"Huh. Is it their time yet?"

"…Not quite." It was hard to tell, but it seemed that the hands momentarily tightened their grip on each other; if they did at all, they relaxed just as quickly. "A girl, age twelve. I need you to watch her for a while, and take her soul when the time is right."

"…Hm." Well, that was an odd way of putting it. Usually, he would say something along the lines of, 'It's nearly time for this person to die. See it through.'

"Any particular reason?"

He shifted, a pale hand lifting into the air.

"Isn't it your job to find out? You're skilled enough. I trust your judgment."

…

I nodded, and rose.

"I'll prepare to travel to the human world tomorrow."

* * *

I walked down the gray path, my feet brushing against stone. At the end of it path is the door. It stands between here, Purgatory, and there, Heaven. Each one serves its own purpose; as contradictory places, they cannot be allowed to meet. Yet a door—a way to pass between the two—exists. I've often wondered why. Humans themselves are contradictory; they're brought to life by Heaven's angels, and eventually brought to death by Purgatory's reapers. So then, I thought, maybe it only exists in case life and death ever have to exist at the same time.

They set a guard over the door. At all times, someone has to watch it to make sure no one can pass through. A reaper in Heaven would be a disaster. We kill everything we touch; and in a place of life...

Yes, such a place would be destroyed.

But on that side? They don't guard it. They don't even want to come here.

The door stood far higher than the top of my head, adorned with a crest of an angelic creature over three triangles. Someone told me once it's supposed to represent the life the angels give the humans. But why use triangles to represent the humans? Were angels really just round balls of light with wings? It never made sense to me.

I knocked.

"…Ms. Toriel? Are you there?"

I heard shuffling from the other side, and then a woman's soft voice.

"Sans? Oh, it's so good to see you! How are you doing today, dear?"

"Well enough…" I paused. "I won't be coming by here for a while. I've been assigned to a human again. So…this might be my last shift."

"Is that so? What a shame. You'll be finished in a few of their days, right?"

"Maybe, but I'm not sure. He told me something different this time; said I have to watch her."

"Ah…" I heard the sound of dripping water.

"Watering your plants again?"

"Yes…the flowers need constant attention, even in a place like this. Heaven is covered with golden flowers like these."

I leaned back against the door, setting down my scythe. "Mm. Sounds like a terrible place."

"Only you would say that. I'm sure if you could see it, you would change your mind."

"If it's anything like the human world's flower gardens, I think I'll pass."

"I can't believe you, Sans…what's it like over there, anyway? What could have possibly made you so gloomy?"

"I'm not…ugh." I grimaced. To an angel, maybe it would seem gloomy. But her world of light and sunshine and flowers…it made me sick.

"Over here, it's always dark; nothing emits light, but everything exists in black or gray or white. ...Maybe it's not a pretty place, but it doesn't have to be."

"Hm. To me, that sounds terribly sad…but do you like it?"

"I guess. I mean, it serves its purpose."

"Is that all you think of it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

We sat there in silence for a minute. I listened to the sound of her footsteps, and closed my eyes.

"So…could you tell me one of your stories?"

"Oh? You want to hear about the human births again?"

"Sure."

"I don't know…if even the thought of flowers sickens you, can you really handle babies? The little giggles they make, and how their parents' eyes light up at every little noise, and—"

I cut her off.

"Right, right, I get it. …I don't like the stories so much, but I like hearing them from you." It passed the time, anyway…and it made her happy.

"Hm… Well, then. Today, a girl named Lucy was born. Her parents didn't know what to call her at first, but then…"

At some point, I stopped listening to the words she said, but instead to the voice that said them. It was a high-pitched, feminine voice; almost motherly. If she were human, and if we aged, she'd probably be in her late forties. Beyond that, I didn't know. Was she really a ball of light with wings? The image didn't fit in my head.

I continued listening to her, drifting in and out of a light doze until the bell rang. She heard it faintly through the door.

"Oh, is it time for you to go already?"

"Yeah. See you…in a while."

I brushed the dust from my cloak and set off.

* * *

I stood in front of the mirror, looking through to the human world. It's a world of both life and death down there; I like it as much as I hate it.

My associate stood next to me. She was ranked higher than me, and completed more missions than most of us could ever hope to with cold ambivalence and a sense of duty. Because of her competence, she was one of the few of us allowed to touch the mirror.

They called her 'Undyne the Blood Reaper.'

"All righty, Sans, you ready?" She flashed a jagged, uneven grin, and drew a line across the mirror with her scaly finger. "Here we go!"

A watery reflection of someone's bedroom appeared. A girl with long, black hair sat at a desk, a book open in front of her; I looked down on her from above.

I took a breath, and stepped through.

* * *

 **Notes/Manizu Chatter:**

Huuu I love writing melancholy, it makes me strangely happy.

Reaper Sans always seems like a more serious character to me, so…he gets a more eloquent vocabulary here, along with less stylized dialogue.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to include it in the story, but the door to Purgatory is marked with a Gasterblaster.


	2. Girl in Black

**So here's the thing:**

 **I started writing this before I knew very much about Reapertale, or how involved it was.**

 **I have since gotten into the AU, and wow, is it great. I have also realized what a major frickin' departure this story is by comparison.**

 **So, please, think of this as a reimagining in broad strokes…sort of like Wolverine's Deadpool (actually, no, that's a terrible example, don't think that).**

 **(I probably will write some canon-based Reapertale eventually…mainly Papyrus, since I think his method of reaping is simultaneously adorable and heartbreaking. But you came here for the story, not for gratuitous author's notes.)**

The color of the human world was what hit me first. It burned my eyes. It had been a while since I had been there on assignment.

The girl herself, then, provided a sort of relief for my eyes. Straight black hair running down her back, a white blouse, a black skirt, pale hands…

If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was one of us.

It seemed odd to me, though. It looked like she was still wearing her school uniform, even though I had arrived late in the evening. Why? Sure, I knew some kids were too lazy to change out of them…but she didn't seem like that type. Her room was neatly organized, shelves of books free of dust, bed made.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. From where I was, I could see her hand moving in straight lines over the surface of the book. Ah; so it was a notebook. Probably doing homework or something.

I watched for a few minutes, but she showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. After a few minutes, my eyes grew heavy. Couldn't he have assigned me a more interesting human? One that actually did things? A soldier, a police officer, a stunt double…I'd even settle for a mortician.

I hadn't realized it, but I had begun to doze off. I snapped awake.

Clearly, I would need something to do.

Taking care not to attract her attention, I grabbed a book from the shelf and laid down. Although she couldn't see me, she would see a book floating in midair if she happened to turn around. I flipped through a few pages…

 _X_

 _You trace_

 _It with the tips_

 _Of your fingers_

 _Across my lips…_

Pages and pages of pretentious poetry. So, she was one of _those._ I put it back on the shelf, scanning through the other volumes with a finger.

Psychology…short stories…flower symbolism…

Ah. A comic book.

I laid down on the floor again, ready for, if nothing else, a cheap action-adventure.

A sketchy, patchwork darkness covered the first page. Then, a poorly-drawn figure stepped out, looking over a diorama of a brain. On the next page, the brain became real, spinning gears and flowers sprouting from sulci. The figure, clinging to the brain stem, looked up as a ship sailed through a sea of stars.

I flipped through the rest of it. Pages of nonsense. Not a single word.

I resisted the urge to throw it across the room.

It would be a long night.

* * *

She continued writing throughout the rest of the evening. At exactly 9:30, she left to take a shower; by 10:15, she was asleep. It seemed rigidly like clockwork; she probably followed the same routine every day.

I took off my robe, bunching it up under my head. I didn't really need to sleep, but it sure beat the boredom of watching her through the night.

I still didn't understand. What was with this human? Was there really anything all that exciting about her? It didn't make sense.

I closed my eyes, dreaming of an endless gray path.

* * *

The alarm went off at 6:00 in the morning.

She shut it off, and immediately got up. Weird. Most humans would at least sleep in a few minutes, right?

After she got dressed, she went down the stairs to breakfast. Then, to school.

All day, she sat at her desk and wrote. When class started, she slid the notebook into her lap, sneaking a few words when the teacher wasn't looking. Even at lunch, the pencil moved across the page.

Outside of necessary interactions, she spoke to no one.

I'll skip over the boring part. She did this for _five days._ For five days, I slept on the floor, and watched her write, and read her books. Did you know that daffodils symbolize rebirth? I didn't. I sure didn't care to ever know, either.

The sixth night, I watched her sleep, the book on flower symbolism still open on my lap. Her chest rose and fell with each soft breath. She didn't move in her sleep, and that surprised me—I almost expected that right hand to still be writing or something.

 _Tap._

I whipped around at the sound of footsteps on the wood floor.

"…Sans."

He stood before me, robe trailing around his feet, red scarf settling around his shoulders as he fully materialized in this world.

My brother.

"…Papyrus. What are you doing here?"

"…He told me you were having some trouble." He settled down next to me on the floor. "So, how's it going? What's her name?"

"…"

"…Sans, please don't tell me you don't even know her name."

Even if I did know her name, would it really make a difference? After a while, they all start to blur together, anyway.

"It's not like I can help it. She never talks to anyone. Never stops writing in that notebook, though."

"Have you tried reading it?"

I glared at him, tempted to show him to the rows and rows of pretentious literature on the bookshelf behind us.

"Why would I do that? She's twelve. What do you think she could be writing, anyway? Star-crossed vampire lovers? Star-crossed dystopian lovers? Star-crossed—"

"But does it really matter? It could be the worst story you've ever read—and humans do write a lot of terrible stories. The one about the boy and the dog dying in the snow made me so sad—"

"…"

"Right. But don't you think reading it would tell you a little more about her? Maybe with that, you could start figuring out why he sent you here." He stood up, straightening his cloak. "Anyway, think about it. She's twelve, and she's going to die soon. What do you think about that?"

And with that, he vanished, returning to Purgatory. I sat in silence.

Young deaths weren't really all that uncommon. Both of us had taken the souls of humans far younger than her.

What I questioned the whole time was why I was sent. They usually send Undyne on the harder assignments, and Papyrus to comfort those dying of natural causes. And me? I still can't detach myself as much as Undyne, but I'm not a terribly comforting person, either. I'm somewhere in the middle, or maybe something else entirely.

…

I closed the book and got up.

The notebook lay open on the desk, a page's worth of dried ink spread before me.

* * *

Notes/Manizu Chatter:

Yo. I am currently writing this from the lap of a giant teddy bear. Happy Early Valentine's Day.

When I think of the girl, I think of someone like Morino from Otsuichi's _Goth._ Still trying to think of a name for her (maybe Daisy? I'm open to suggestions, especially if they involve flower symbolism.) I'm worried since I usually don't write OCs…I hope she doesn't become a Mary Sue. On the other hand, I'm glad that Sans is coming a little closer to his canon personality…maybe…? (Still not nearly enough morbid humor, but I'm not sure there's much I can do about that now.)

Papyrus would hate Dog of Flanders, probably. I don't know; it's been a long week and I need sleep.

I need to go update ViGrillby's…and write a Valentine's Day Chapter for Everyday Life with Skelebros...


	3. In the Notebook

_Aren't Everyone's Dreams Wonderful?_

* * *

Somewhere among the stars, the children gathered for their lesson.

And with twenty-nine pairs of shoes by the door, twenty-nine lunchboxes all in a row along the back wall, and twenty-nine pairs of folded hands on twenty-nine desks, it began.

The teacher, with eyes like the stars and hair like the sun, asked,

 _"What are everyone's dreams?"_

A meteor shower of cheers came forth.

 _"I want to be a doctor!"_

 _"I want to be a fireman!"_

 _"I want to be a politician!"_

 _"…I want to be a killer."_

And the teacher clasped her hands together.

 _"Aren't everyone's dreams wonderful? Let's work hard today so we can make our dreams come true."_

That day the children learned that two plus two is four, and boast means brag, and seeds grow into flowers; and then they went home.

The next day, the children gathered for their lesson; and with twenty-nine backpacks on the rack, twenty-nine coats in the closet, and twenty-nine sets of culinary tools on the desks, it began.

The teacher asked,

 _"Won't you tell me your dreams again?"_

Diamond-dust murmurs filled the air.

 _"I want to be a surgeon!"_

 _"I want to be the fire chief!"_

 _"I want to be the prime minister!"_

 _"…I want to kill someone."_

And the teacher put down her chalk.

 _"Aren't everyone's dreams wonderful? Let's work hard today, so even if our dreams don't come true, we can still be happy."_

That day the children learned that bread is cheap, and vinegar cleans mirrors, and anyone can cook a burger; and then they went home.

The next day, the children gathered for their lesson; and found twenty-nine scalpels, twenty-nine charred pieces of fabric, twenty-nine stacks of paper, and twenty-nine knives scattered across the desks.

And the teacher looked down.

 _"Aren't everyone's dreams wonderful? But today, let's learn to dream a little more realistically."_

To the boy who wanted to be a surgeon, she said,

 _"Look at that scalpel. You'll have to cut someone open—someone who might not live. Can you handle that?"_

And the boy turned white.

To the boy who wanted to be the fire chief, she said,

 _"Look at that charred fabric. That might be all that's left of your comrades—or you. Can you handle that?"_

And the boy trembled.

To the girl who wanted to be prime minister, she said,

 _"Look at that stack of paper. You'll have to make decisions that affect the citizens of an entire nation—and each step has to be documented with several hours' worth of paperwork. Can you handle that?"_

And the girl covered her head.

To the girl who wanted to kill someone, she said,

 _"Look at this knife. If you want to be a killer, you'll inconvenience others. So instead of being a burden, why not kill yourself? Can you handle that?"_

And the girl picked up the knife and put it through her chest.

That day, the children learned that stars are balls of gas, and meteors are falling debris, and dreams are only thoughts; and then they went home.

The next day, the adults gathered for their lesson; and with twenty-eight pairs of tired eyes, twenty-eight downcast looks, and twenty-eight pretenses, it began.

And the teacher asked,

 _"Won't you tell me your dreams again?"_

The adults sat in silence for the rest of the day, and then they went home.

* * *

Notes/Manizu Chatter:

I originally wrote this as a stand-alone story, but didn't feel comfortable publishing it on its own. So here it is, recycled into fanfic…it's all good.


	4. Because I Could Not Stop for Death

**(I'm just going to add a trigger warning for extended discussion of suicide in this chapter, to be on the safe side.)**

I flipped through the rest of the notebook. Pages upon pages of words, all in neat black ink. Some were the same story, copied over and over again; others were entirely different stories. None were any longer than a page or two.

I had watched over humans who were obsessive types before. One spent hours at a time working on a house of cards; at the time of his death, it remained unfinished, taking up nearly the breadth of a room. Another pored over the same books again and again; accounts of true crime and brutal murders. Comparatively, this wasn't such a worrisome compulsion…but I couldn't exactly call it normal, either.

The story made no sense. In the grand scheme of things, wouldn't it be better if the girl killed herself? She wanted to kill someone. She got her wish. Only one person had to die, instead of two or three or…

I didn't care to think about it anymore. Twelve-year-olds write some stupid stuff. I flipped the notebook back to the first page I had read and went to sleep.

* * *

It was days later that I noticed.

Really, I'm not sure how I didn't see it sooner. He wasn't exactly hiding anything.

A boy near the back of the class stared at her. He cupped his chin in his hand, eyes trailing back and forth with the hand across the page. He looked away every once in a while—usually to take notes—and went right back to staring.

 _Hey, buddy. Watching her is my job._

He glanced up, through me, out the window. Then, he fixed his eyes on the back of her head.

* * *

"So? Did you read it?"

That night, Papyrus had decided to visit again. We sat cross-legged on the floor, a few feet from the bed.

"Yeah."

"Anything interesting?"

"Nope."

"Oh, come on! You're a Reaper; treat your job with just a little more respect!"

"So, you're saying I should…put a little more _backbone_ into it?"

"BROTHER—"

"Ah, c'mon, bro. You didn't find it even a little _humerus?"_

He was silent for a moment. I turned to see him holding his face in his hands, suppressing a scream of rage.

"…Why must you always do this to me?"

I chuckled. "Couldn't resist. Anyway…"

I explained the story to him. He looked sad toward the end.

"So that's it, then? She kills herself? And all the children…none of their dreams come true?"

"Yeah. I mean, they wouldn't have come true anyway. She showed them that."

He looked down.

"I don't know, though. They were just kids. Maybe one day they'd be able to handle things like that. Their world isn't a very nice place—they all figure it out eventually. But…but by saying 'You can't do it,' she erased the possibility that they ever would."

"And the girl who wanted to be a killer? Do you really think someone like her should be allowed to do whatever she wants? I know you, Paps."

"…No. I don't. But…there had to be a better way. Cutting and incisions—they're the same thing, in the end. She could have been the surgeon."

It was quiet for a few minutes. Finally, I spoke.

"Don't worry about it so much. It was just a stupid story written by a twelve-year-old."

He nodded.

"Well…did you ever figure out her name?"

"Aster." I had paid attention to roll call that morning. A weird name suited a weird person like her.

"Isn't that one of their flowers?"

"Yup." I wrapped my hands around my scythe, trying to get my mind on anything but the human world's disgusting flowers. He noticed.

"Still don't like them? Every once in a while, you've got to stop and smell the roses!" He grimaced as he realized what he had done.

"They die when you touch them."

"Not if you don't get too close! And they smell so sweet…you should try it sometime."

I couldn't help but crack a smile. Someone like him isn't cut out to be a Reaper; he could have been an angel instead.

"Anyway…I found something else. There's this guy in her class who keeps watching her."

"Oh? Do you think he'll be the one to do her in?" We've both taken the souls of thousands of humans, and heard countless stories from other Reapers. After a while, a human's cause of death can be as predictable as the twist ending in a cheap paperback.

"Wouldn't doubt it." I laid back on the floor. Yes, it almost made sense…

But the way he phrased it when he sent me was definitely weird. 'Take her soul when the time is right'—as if I had some control over the circumstances of her death. Maybe if she were a cancer patient, I would.

But that was Papyrus's area of expertise; not mine. Surely if it were just that, he would have sent my brother instead.

"Well…" Papyrus stood. "If it's a murder, I'm sure you'll be able to take her soul easily enough. It's almost my turn for door guard, so…" The edges of his scarf started to fade and turn gray, but I could still hear his voice:

"Keep an eye on her. And try to learn his name too, all right?"

* * *

"Sayuri."

"Here."

Well. That was easy enough. Helen, Tianxiao, Michel…the others' names would probably fade from my memory soon, but I could at least remember those two for now.

There are billions of humans—we can't possibly remember them all. I'm lucky if I can remember the names of one or two souls I've reaped in the past. Usually, it's the stories I remember most readily when I care to think about it.

I hung in midair next to the boy. His short black hair matched dark eyes and slacks; a red barrette kept stray bangs out of his eyes. Once again, he watched her.

I glanced over his shoulder, into his notebook. He wasn't taking notes after all; a line of bunnies in skirts and overalls paraded across the header, tumbling toward the bottom of the page. How sickening.

Aster wasn't doing anything particularly interesting, either. She copied the same story over and over again. When she reached the end, she turned the page and repeated the process.

Finally, I settled into an empty desk in the back of the room. There couldn't possibly be anything else I could get from them right now—at least, nothing I couldn't figure out by reading their notebooks later.

I drifted into a light doze.

* * *

She left the room for a few minutes, and I flipped through the pages again.

 _Somewhere among the stars…_

 _Somewhere among the stars…_

 _Somewhere among the stars…_

 _Because I could not stop for Death…_

Emily Dickenson. Where did this kid get off?

I wondered, for a moment, if she knew how soon she would die. I heard stories like that every once in a while—stories of humans that felt peace or terror right before their lives ended. But her? I didn't know what was going through her head.

I stepped away from the desk as she entered again. As expected, she sat down, unzipping her pencil case to prepare for another night of obsessive writing.

She pulled out a box knife, sliding the edge of the blade over her wrist.

And there she sat, for fifteen minutes—the sheen of the blade against the pale skin. She looked over it, seeming more passive or bored than anything else.

A suicide. It made sense. Those who take their own lives usually try to do so quietly. They don't tell anyone. They just up and disappear one day. The ones that are willing to open up and tell others about it are the ones who are ready for help; it's the quiet ones you have to worry about.

She was the type with no connections. She was the type whose thoughts didn't leave her mouth, but bounced around the walls of her head.

As soon as the knife cut her wrist, as soon as the red color appeared against her monochrome form, I could take her soul. It was that simple—and it was probably all he wanted me to do, right?

…And yet.

At the moment, I didn't know what it was, or why I did it. Maybe the old woman managed to get to me. Maybe it was my brother. Maybe I even got attached to her, somehow.

Whatever it was…

I stepped forward, knocking the knife from her hands. It clattered to the floor.

She blinked. She looked down at the box cutter, and back to her shaking hands.

Without a word, she took out a pen and continued writing.

* * *

Notes/Manizu Chatter:

Wow…I didn't expect last chapter's story to get such a strong reception. Thank you, guys…

I've actually started a Wattpad (username is also Manizu), but I have yet to put anything up yet…Anyway, I'll be writing original stories there soon, so…I shall shamelessly plug myself! (I want to finish a couple of fics here first, though, along with giving myself a four-chapter buffer for my first novel there…)

I'm playing the "ambiguous setting" card to justify all the characters' names. It's not that weird, anyway. (It's also most certainly not because I got tired of researching names, nope…)

I already mentioned my muse for Aster's design, but when I think of Sayuri, I think of the boy from the Two Breaths Walking PV.


	5. It Was a Town of Smoke

She wrote something new the next day. I caught a few words in those few moments where she looked up, removed the arm cradled around the page, and searched for words:

 _"Between you and_

 _I_

 _Are the still faces of this town._

 _The held hand unmoving,_

 _Sun_

 _Forever dim overhead._

 _As far as we walk,_

 _Run,_

 _All lies still in the ash._

 _In this town without_

 _Movement_

 _Or words_

 _It continues on;_

 _'Same as it ever was.'"_

It went on and on—same nonsense about a still town of ash and smoke. I stretched, drawing in a breath of the air I didn't need.

If something hadn't happened that day, I'm sure I would have reached my limit.

It was lunch period. Having finished my obligatory checks, I put my feet up on an empty desk in the back of the class. She was writing, alternating between slices of apple and a pencil in her hand. And he…

Was drawing a smiling flower. Disgusting.

I closed my arms behind my head. I wondered, for a minute, if I could get a break from this—doing nothing is hard work, after all. Yes, that thought was nice. Or maybe I could get a rotational shift with Papyrus or….Undyne? Would she get involved with a simple job like this?

She got up, closing the lunchbox and placing the pencil next to the open notebook. Probably going to use the restroom.

I felt my eyes begin to close, but I struggled to stay awake just a little longer. Between half-asleep flashed of black, I saw an empty desk…an empty desk…

…A boy with a pen.

I sat up. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and leaned over the open page. His face remained completely neutral.

Just below the last line of the poem was a few lines of empty space. He clicked the end of the pen, and drew something. Once more he looked up, and returned to his desk.

Before I could move to see what it was, she returned. A few feet from her desk, she saw it; stopped dead in her tracks.

Without a word, she closed the notebook, and sat with her hands folded across her lap for the rest of the day.

* * *

It was after class when she confronted him.

He hummed something as he slid a textbook and a folder in a backpack. As she approached, her hands tightened around the notebook tucked under her arm.

She drew a breath.

"You drew it, didn't you?"

It was the first time I had really ever heard her speak to anyone. No, not speak, per se; she had talked with family members, teachers, and classmates when necessary. This was the first time I had heard her truly communicate with someone—the first time she talked of her own volition, with the intent of having a true conversation. Her voice was soft, but clear; just loud enough to be heard over the dull din of rustling paper and afterschool chatter.

He zipped the backpack closed.

"Oh, that?"

"…The rabbit. Walking through town."

"Mm-hmm. I did."

The classroom was nearly empty by this point. He sat down on the edge of his desk, and continued talking.

"The rabbit, going through an unmoving town, choking on ash and smoke…don't you think that's a little sad? …That's what I thought, anyway. A town where nothing ever moves—nothing ever _changes."_ He twirled a pen in his right hand, eyes on it instead of her face. "Stagnant, and…I thought it maybe sounded a little familiar."

The two were quiet for a minute; the only sound between them the occasional click of plastic against fingernails.

She spoke.

"…Yeah, I guess that's it. How I see it, anyway. Each day…is the same. You get up, go to school, go home, sleep, get up…you try to make the most you can out of it, and sometimes you wonder what 'making the most' really means. Whether you want it to or not, it all goes on, and…" A pause. "If the story isn't going to go anywhere anyway, sometimes you wonder if it isn't best to just…stop reading."

Finally, he looked into her eyes. Smiled, laughed.

"Can't say I don't feel the same way. That's why I drew it."

* * *

That night she left the notebook closed on her desk, and read a novel from the shelf.

I sat in the chair by the desk. I remember that night that I had planned to look at the boy's drawing after she went to sleep. It wasn't like I had anything else to do, so I thought I might as well finish the job. If I have to admit it, part of me was curious about this turn of events.

In a weird way, it went on. She made…a friend?

Humans are weird. They'll form connections over the silliest of things. If that's the case, then I guess simple probability would account for buddying up after notebook graffiti.

That night, my "work" would get cut short as I felt the tap of a finger on my shoulder. I didn't even hear her enter the room—but I guess I should have known who it was by that alone.

I turned, coming face-to-face with the Blood Reaper.

"Sans. _He_ needs to see you."

I grinned.

"Did I mess up?"

"Oh, yeah. You sure did."

* * *

Notes/Manizu Chatter:

THE PLOT MOVES FORWARD!

And I feel like I should say…NO, quitting is not the answer! I can assure you it eventually goes somewhere; there's a reason you're here. And, uh, if you ever need to talk to someone…my inbox is open.

Anyway.

Eyy, that Taking Heads reference. Does that qualify me as a dork? I dunno; I'm pretty sure that's the only song of theirs I've ever listened to.

Even if that doesn't…the inspiration for this chapter's "poem" was fafoo's "When People Would Vanish from the Smoking Room," to a degree. So, I'm most definitely a dork. (It had been a while since I read it, so I re-read it after I wrote the poem...I actually didn't mean for it to be that similar, as I forgot most of the story aside from the setting. I...might change it up a little in the future.) Incidentally, the chapter title is taken from the story.


	6. Death Takes a Holiday

It was easier to understand why Undyne was called the "Blood Reaper" in their world. The dull, muted gray of her cloak had turned crimson in the evening light, and her current scowl seemed almost the more menacing because of it.

Almost.

"So he's got a _bone_ to pick with me? That's never happened before."

I expected her to yell or get angry, but she didn't react.

"Stop joking around. I need you to come with me, right now." I jumped as she grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the chair. Before I hit the ground, a hole opened up in the floor, and all color left my vision.

* * *

She waited in the gray light of the doorway as I talked with him.

"I'll get to the point." The hands lay flat across the desk. "We've received a report that you…interrupted the human girl's suicide attempt."

I nodded.

"Care to explain why?"

"Well…" I had been trying to come up with an answer for that since the day before. And maybe…maybe it was Ms. Toriel _,_ maybe it was Papyrus, maybe it was Aster, but…

"…I guess, in the end, I just wanted to know where it was all going."

"…Going?"

"…Yeah, going." I gripped my scythe tighter; I still wasn't certain how I was going to explain it. "I mean…you put me in this room with a weird girl, and then tell me to take her soul 'when the time is right.' She writes in her notebook for—how long, now? A week and a half?—and then she up and decides to kill herself. Why? Why not just send me off without any cryptic instruction—like usual?"

"Hm. So, it was curiosity."

"No. It wasn't."

…

"Either way, it doesn't matter. You know that interfering with the death of a human is a major infraction."

I did. The rule had sat in the back of my mind since I first heard it; it never occurred to me that there might be a situation that would warrant even the passing thought of breaking it.

"I can't place a great deal of trust in you right now—you have broken a major rule, after all, and it's certainly not the first time. I'll put you on a rotational shift with Papyrus, effective immediately. If you can't make clear decisions, you'll need to rely on a partner."

 _Certainly not the first time…_ For a minute, I tensed. Sure, it was true; I failed to get _his_ soul. But him…he wasn't normal. Even the guy in front of me had admitted that.

Still, I couldn't let myself get distracted by that. Something still didn't sit right with me, and I needed to get to the bottom of it.

"So, she's still going to die, then?"

The hands pressed against the desk, and I heard the sound of bones clicking as he rose. For the first time, I saw his face: pale and white, with a crack running down from the left eye.

"It's been said that there are some realities that you can't change—some that are simply inevitable. I've heard it called 'fate,' though I don't particularly care for the term." He moved, and the glimpse of the face I caught disappeared once more.

"Tell me, what do you think of that?"

* * *

I found myself on guard duty again. I wouldn't be allowed to return to the human world for a few of their days.

Not that I _particularly_ minded…

I knocked.

"Ms. Toriel? I'm back. Are you there?"

There was no response. I leaned against the door and waited for a few minutes. Maybe she wasn't there; if kept my temple against it, I might be able to hear her footsteps when she showed up.

I didn't realize how much I had missed the stillness of Purgatory until after I returned from watching that girl. The human world is noisy—machines buzz, and cars roar by, and voices are always murmuring. It's annoying.

Because I could, I clapped; I could almost hear the sound pierce through miles of gray and black.

Purgatory is a quiet place. Sound clings to life as persistently as a dog chews a bone, but in a place that's neither life nor death? Any noise falls still soon after it rings out.

I closed my eyes, enjoying all the nothing in my skull. If Heaven's a place of life, then it must be incredibly noisy, I thought.

I'm not sure when I nodded off, but the next thing I remembered was a hand on the top of my skull.

"Hey, nerd."

I glanced upward. Undyne scowled down at me, eyes narrow.

"Oh, hey. …What're you doing here?"

"They've got me on patrol now, since Papyrus is tied up doing your job."

"That so?"

"What I'm _saying_ is—" I felt my phalanges rise from the ground as she pulled my face closer to hers. "You're causing administration a lot of problems right now, so it would look better if _you weren't sleeping on the job._ Got it?"

I nodded as best I could, feet flailing in midair.

"Good." She let go, and I hit the ground. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You're usually…well, you're better than _this._ Is something distracting you?"

Was she…trying to ask about Toriel? No. There was no way she could know—and if anything was distracting me, I couldn't say it was her.

"Lockjaw, maybe." I cracked my knuckles and slid my jaw back into place. "Tends to make a guy a little more rigid."

"Stop it. I'm serious."

"Was my delivery too stiff?"

"Will you STOP. THAT!"

A few black dots appeared in midair, and quickly expanded. Her scythe began to take shape.

"Okay, okay. Calm down. There's no need for… _Sans_ eless violence." I ducked under a blow from her scythe and continued. "But yeah, I guess you could say there's something distracting me."

"Finally." Her scythe dispersed into black dots, melting into the ground.

I fumbled for an excuse.

"It's…something like…"

"…"

"That girl's books, yeah."

"Her…books."

"Have you read them? They're so awful I can't focus. What kind of twelve-year-old reads that stuff, anyway?"

"If they're what's causing you to lose focus on your job…then…stop READING them!"

"But you don't get it. You see…there was a comic."

"A comic?"

"Like those ones Alphys said she always liked, back when she went to the human world. Only…it wasn't like those at all. In fact, you could say it was an abomination to comics."

Undyne's lips pursed. She looked like she really wanted to say something.

"I mean…" She paused, eyelid twitching. "I mean, if Alphys were here, she'd say they weren't comics…but…how bad was it?"

"Like something you'd see at a modern art museum. Truly…it was an a _comi_ nation."

I dodged a few more swings of her scythe. She was _quick;_ I hadn't even noticed her summon it again.

"Was that whole thing…" She stopped to catch her breath. "…Just the setup for a dumb joke?!"

"Maybe."

"I can't believe you. I come here, CONCERNED for you for once…" She waved her hand at me like you would at a pile of trash. "And you won't even talk to me. I'm done."

She turned to head back down the path, but before she had taken five steps, she shouted over her shoulder:

"Papyrus was right; you never tell anyone anything."

* * *

…Was that the way she felt?

We've never had a particularly good relationship. That isn't to say it was ever bad; after all, what's a few broken bones among friends?

…

Right. That's what I thought you'd say.

Her concern came as a surprise to me. Now, I wish I would have told her something—anything. Maybe she could have done something about what it all became. But I know that back then, I still didn't have any idea what to tell her. Even if I could, maybe nothing would have changed at all.

I thought it all over until I heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

I stood completely still. I was sure it was Toriel, but I knew I needed to be more careful. If Undyne was starting to get suspicious, there was no doubt that others could eventually catch on.

I heard a knock.

"Sans? Are you there?"

* * *

Notes/Manizu Chatter:

The chapter title is extremely appropriate for the hiatus this story has been on.

I keep looking back at older chapters of this and cringing at how purple some of the prose is, especially for Sans. But it feels so satisfying to write…

Maybe I should provide some sort of explanation for how time passes in Purgatory and Heaven? Basically, the way I see it is that time passes in different rates in the human world and Purgatory, but time is excessively subjective in the latter. The rate changes constantly, and the passage of time is really only marked by events, such as, "Well, I guess it's about time for the shift change."


End file.
